


But you warm me to my core (and you left me wanting more)

by Silfrvarg



Series: Master thieves and private eyes [3]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 22:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17969600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silfrvarg/pseuds/Silfrvarg
Summary: Buddy is sick of Juno and Peter's drama on her ship and sends them on a quick mission to sort out their issues. They do, eventually.ORJuno takes a moment to reflect on what particular bad choices he made that led to him lying on a dirty concrete floor, dripping wet and shaking and surrounded by people that wanted to kick the shit out of him for fun, and feeling relieved.After some thought he concludes he’s made too many bad choices to narrow it down, so he goes ahead and blames all of them.





	But you warm me to my core (and you left me wanting more)

**Author's Note:**

> This is for theedgeofnight, who prompted me 'you said you would let them go' and The Penumbra Podcast for Bad Things Happen Bingo. This is what I came up with after a couple of false starts, sorry it took so long!
> 
> Warnings for: discussion of suicidal thoughts, discussion of past suicidal actions, discussion of depression, someone using Juno’s psychological history to demean him, torture, disassociation.
> 
> Buddy: There's only room on this ship for MY gay drama!

Juno hadn’t been expecting to see Peter Nureyev again anytime soon, not outside of dreams at any rate. He’d like to say that it was just the sand in his lungs that left him breathless, but, well, he was trying to kick the habit of lying to himself.

Just- just the _sight_ of this man makes his heart race, makes him want to run away almost as bad as it makes him want to run _towards_ , how the hell is he supposed to-

“Hello Juno. It’s been a while.”

And just like that he’s lost.

* * *

In a perfect world, Juno and ~~Nureyev~~ ( _he’s Peter Swann here, don’t slip up, don’t screw this up for him more than you already have_ ) Juno and _Swann_ would have found a quiet corner of the ship and had a long, honest discussion about their feelings.

That’s- well, that’s not what happens.

It’s not that Juno doesn’t want to, or even that he’s scared to ( _but he is, he’s_ terrified), it’s just he doesn’t even know how to begin.

Well, sorry would be a good start.

But he owes Nureyev more than that. He owes him a proper apology, an honest explanation for why he left him _alone_ in the middle of the night like a coward.

He’s still a coward, he can’t find the words and the longer he puts it off, the harder it is, until the only thing he can do is _nothing_. The past is a choking weight around his neck and the only way to move forwards is to acknowledge it, but he _can’t_.

There’s a tension between them, plain as the stars in the sky, and everyone on this ship can see it.

For the first few days they seemed content to let Juno and ~~Nureyev~~ Swann sort it out for themselves, but clearly that’s not going to happen anytime soon, so they’ve started to get- well. Rita’s been looking between him and Swann, her eyebrow raising ever higher in a silent but pointed demand for him to do something about it. Jet’s been not so subtly mentioning that communication is the key to any relationship, be it business or _personal_. Vespa’s been glaring at him, but, well, that might just be her default setting, he doesn’t know her well enough to be sure. As for Buddy, well, she took one look at the two of them, threw up her hands and walked out, muttering under her breath.

Really, Juno doesn’t blame her one bit.

Finally, it seems that Buddy is done waiting for them to sort this out like adults, because she kicks them off the ship for the day.

Well, she sends them out on a reconnaissance job anyway, scoping out Delphus, one of the larger cities on Neptune in preparation for… something. Much as he’d wanted to know what was going on, much as that was kind of a sticking point for him signing up with this whole _crime_ thing, he hadn’t been able to focus on the long plan. Not while sitting next to Nureyev listening to Buddy and trying to keep his heart from racing just from proximity, the phantom heat of the man beside him, the barest hint of those sharp teeth and that _smell_.

Well, who could blame him for being a little distracted?

As it is, he only knows what they’re doing, not so much the why. They’re here to look at the situation in this city, get a feel for how visible the local law enforcement is, how quick the response times are, what sort of crime was enough to bring down the boot of the law and what slipped by unnoticed in the ebb and flow of people and pavement and light.

To be fair to Buddy, he and Nureyev _were_ the obvious choice for the job. Nureyev had the eyes and instincts of a master thief, Juno had years of experience sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Between the two of them, there wasn’t much that would go unnoticed.

Which is why he’s certain that ~~Nureyev~~ Swann ~~damn it~~ has spotted the two men tailing them by now. How could he not?

They’re in one of the larger markets in the city now, pretending to look at the wares, and Juno pauses at one of the stands, picking up a light scarf and throwing it around his shoulders. He turns to Nureyev.

“What do you think?”

Nureyev flicks his eyes over him, and hell that _really_ shouldn’t be enough to make his breath catch in his throat, but, well, here they are.

“Royal blue _is_ your colour, darling.” Nureyev says smoothly, but he’s looking beyond Juno now, in the perfect position to get a good look at the men following them without drawing attention, eyes sharp and calculating behind the charming smile on his face.

“Perhaps we’ll have to come back for it,” Juno agrees, taking the scarf off to place it back on the table with regret that’s only partially feigned ( _it’s a nice scarf ok?_ ) “We’d better get a move on if we’re expecting to entertain our guests later.”

They leave the table, and Nureyev takes the opportunity to take Juno’s arm, drawing him closer with a gentle touch, and it’s enough to- ( _no._ focus _. We have a job to do_ ) it’s _almost_ enough to leave him shaking.

The low voice murmuring in his ear isn’t helping matters.

“They’re not alone, they’re watching us and talking on their comms, and when they do, they look further up the street.” Nureyev breathes.

“That’s a bad habit, gives away the fact that they’ve got other teams on the ground. My money’s on at least two more, probably one moving in the crowds across the street and one somewhere ahead of us. Up high.” Juno says thoughtfully, scanning through the crowds as best he can with one eye.

“I’m not going to bet against you on that one, detective,” Nureyev says with a teasing lilt, “this is after all your area of expertise. Any thoughts on how to play this?”

“Well that depends,” Juno shrugs, “If they’re locals, they might have noticed us nosing around and decided to see what we’re up to. If that’s the case, and we make a run for it, we’ll only be confirming that we’re up to no good.”

“We _are_ up to no good.” Nureyev says with a sharp grin.

“ _Exactly_.”

“An excellent point, and if they’re not locals?” Nureyev hums, sounding unconcerned, but Juno can hear the edge to his voice, focus and something like excitement.

“If they’re not locals then _someone_ sent them after us for a reason, and I don’t know what that reason is, but we’re probably not going to like it.” Juno sighs.

“Well I suggest we don’t stick around to find out.”

They’re both on alert now, eyes scanning the crowd for threats, the streets around them for escape routes. They don’t know this city, or, well, Nureyev might but Juno certainly doesn’t. Still, the alleyways look like the same kind of maze they are in Hyperion City, a good place to lose their pursuers.

Or a good place to get cornered, ambushed and killed.

Still, it’s better than standing in the middle of a crowd waiting to get picked off.

Apparently, Nureyev has the same idea, because without a word they’re both moving slowly to the edge of the crowd, arms still linked, still keeping up the pretence of being nothing but lovers on a pleasant stroll.

Until they hit the alleys anyway.

They’re running now, Nureyev’s steps light and almost silent compared to Juno’s pounding on the pavement. Nureyev’s got a knife in his right hand, his left still holding onto Juno’s. Juno has his blaster out in his left, set on stun and pointed low.

Juno’s chased enough people through alley ways that he has a good idea of how to move through them, and Nureyev… well, _master thief_. In the twists and turns and blind corners of the alleys it’s easy to lose their two closest tails.

Still, Juno gets the feeling there’s plenty more where those came from, and while skill and finesse can get you pretty far, he’s been on the other side of enough manhunts to know that sheer numbers count for a lot.

Case in point-

“Two on the rooftop, ten o’clock.” He hisses out, and Nureyev hears him because he’s already moving, pulling Juno along with him and ducking into an alley to their right and then taking a left to put a few buildings between them and those particular eyes.

 “Two more, about eighty feet back on your five.” Nureyev says, seemingly covering Juno’s blind spot without even having to think about it.

“Another three, side street sixty feet ahead.” Juno huffs out.

“Persistent, aren’t they?” Nureyev is still holding onto his hand, still pulling him along without even thinking about it.

See, Nureyev takes disappearing from a skill to an art form. He could ditch Juno and completely vanish, probably before Juno even noticed he’d let go of his hand. Looking at him… Juno knows the thought hasn’t even crossed his mind.

Being chased through unfamiliar streets by unknown pursuers isn’t the _best_ time for realizations, but hell, but Juno’s never had the best timing for this sort of thing.

 He doesn’t deserve Peter Nureyev, he never did, but even after _everything_ , Nureyev still won’t give up on him.

It’s a nice thought, or at least it would be if Juno wasn’t so terrified that it was going to get him killed.

The net is tightening, Juno spots at least six people, there are probably more on his blind side, but neither Peter nor Juno have the time to be calling out positions anymore. Too busy running.

Whoever they are, whatever they want, they’ve gone to a _lot_ of trouble for this, and Juno’s trying, he’s _trying_ to think more positively but he can’t think of a single way this doesn’t end badly for him and Nureyev.

And he’s proven right.

They round a blind corner and Nureyev stops dead in his tracks, utterly still even as Juno slams into his back.

The barrel of a blaster resting on his cheek probably has something to do with that.

Nureyev’s got his hands up, knife dropping to the pavement with a clatter.

Juno doesn’t. Quicker than thought his blaster is up, aiming right at the woman with the blaster on Peter.

“Put it down.” He demands, and his voice is steady and calm.

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing. Weapon down or I shoot your friend.” She says firmly, eyes cold and calculating in a way he _really_ doesn’t like.

Juno holds that cold gaze with his own, not backing down an inch, not moving except to flick the switch on the blaster from stun to kill, “That wouldn’t end well for you.”

“Maybe not, but he’d still be dead.” She says.

She’s not wrong.

Worse, he can hear people moving behind him, hear them raising their weapons, and this might have been a bad situation before but now it’s a disaster. He can’t shoot his way out of this without getting Nureyev killed, he knows it, they know it.

Judging by the way Nureyev’s hand tightens where it’s still holding Juno’s, he knows it too.

“Let him go, _now_ , and I’ll come quietly.” Juno says firmly.

“What makes you think we’re not after _him_?” She asks.

“If you were, there’s far easier ways to kill someone. Sniper from across the street, poison knife in the crowd, you don’t go to _this_ much trouble just to shoot someone in an alley. You’ve clearly got no problem with doing just that though, so it mustn’t be him your after,” Juno answers, and he’s trying, he’s _trying_ to keep his nerve but there’s a hitch in his voice that he can’t mask, “ _Let him go_.”

“I don’t need to, in case you haven’t noticed there’s five blasters on you. You’re cornered Steel, give it up.”

“I might be cornered, but I can still get at least one shot off. Are you willing to bet your life that I’ll miss, at this range?”

“Are you willing to bet _his_ that you won’t.” She counters.

“Honestly, I’d rather not,” He admits, “Look, you don’t have to kill him, whatever problem you’ve got with _me_ , he’s got nothing to do with it. Just let him go and you get me without having to fire a shot.”

“Juno,” Nureyev speaks up for the first time, “Don’t-“

The woman with the blaster presses the barrel harder into Nureyev’s cheek, a silent warning, and he goes quiet again.

“You’re right. We don’t need to kill him, and if you come quietly, we won’t. Now, I’m going to lower my blaster, you’re going to do the same, and if you so much as twitch wrong one of my friends makes sure yours dies first, we clear?”

“Crystal.” Juno bites out.

“Good. Nice and slow now.” She reminds him, and her voice is cruel and condescending, but she’s lowering the blaster, and Juno feels like he can finally catch a breath now that it’s pointed away from Peter’s head.

So he obeys. Slowly, carefully he lowers his blaster so it’s pointing at the ground, loosening his hold on it.

Someone behind it wrenches it from his grip, twisting his arm up behind him roughly and trying to drive him to the ground.

He doesn’t fight it, he said that he’d go quietly, and he fully intends to. He can’t make himself let go of Nureyev’s hand though. In the brief moment before he’s wrestled to the ground, he locks eyes with Nureyev, and he tries to say without words that he’s ok with this, that it’s worth it as long as he’s safe.

So, he sees the look of surprise in Nureyev’s eyes when the stun blast hits him.

Screw going quietly.

He thrashes in the grip of the men holding him, kicking and punching as best he can at anything that moves, hell if they got close enough he’d have no problem adding biting to the list. There are five of them and one of him though, and Juno knows enough about losing battles to recognise one when he sees it.

He fights anyway.

It doesn’t matter, he’s brought down to the ground, well and truly pinned, the barrel of a blaster to the back of his head and he’s too furious to wonder if it’s set to stun.

“You said you’d let him go!” He snarls out, face grinding against the concrete.

“No, I said I’d let him _live_ ,” She says smugly, “You assumed that meant I’d let him go, that sounds more like your problem than mine.”

He can’t even look up at her to glare, he can’t do anything but lie there on the ground and _seethe._

“I’m sick of negotiating, we’ve wasted enough time already. Stun him and let’s get out of here.”

He doesn’t even have time to feel the blast.

* * *

It’s hardly the first time he’s woken up tied to a chair feeling like his brain wants to crawl out of his skull. He’s still feeling the after effects of the stun, and, really, he could handle the pins and needles all over his body, even the truly ferocious headache is nothing compared to some of the hangovers he’s woken up with before.

The laser burn on the back of his head is something he could have done without though.

He opens his eye to try and get a look at his surroundings and immediately regrets it, screwing it shut with a strangled groan as the bright light seems to crawl into his skull in the space where his brain used to be.

“It seems your awake, detective Steel.” A voice from somewhere in front of him comes, familiar, but he can’t quite place it.

Juno groans in response, “Yeah, but I’m not happy about it.”

“Well it’s a good thing your _happiness_ is none of my concern then, isn’t it?” He recognises the voice now, it’s the woman from the alley, the one who’d had the blaster on-

“N- Swann-” Juno snaps his eye open again, ignoring the pain to look around the shoddy, run down room, because the last he’d seen Peter had been stunned and lying in an alley-

“I’m here, Juno,” Nureyev’s voice comes from somewhere to his right, sounding a little strained, “I’m unharmed, aside from the headache.”

“Yes, your friend is unharmed, for now-“ The woman starts, but Juno just tunes her out.

Nureyev’s in his blind spot, and it takes some twisting, and a few hissed expletives, before he can turn his head enough to get a look at him.

Nureyev _does_ look none the worse for wear, aside from the after effects of the stun blast at any rate, and the slightly exasperated look he was throwing Juno’s way.

“You could have taken my word for it and saved yourself the neck strain, Juno.” He sighs.

“Yeah, well, can you blame a lady for checking?” Juno asks.

“Yes actually, considering the lady in question is usually the one who winds up injured in these situations.” Nureyev fires back.

“Hey! Not _all_ the time!” Juno starts to protest, but then he thinks about it for a moment, “Actually, you might have a point there. But still, just because you’re better at staying in one piece than I am doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry about you when we both get _kidnapped_. _Again_.”

“Well isn’t this heart-warming?” the woman asks, suddenly right up in Juno’s face.

“Hey, some personal space would be-“ Juno starts, only to be cut off by a hand gripping him by the hair and twisting, “Ow. Ow. Ow! Quit it!”

“You will remain _silent_ when I am speaking to you, _Detective_ Steel.” The woman says harshly.

“No, actually, I’m pretty sure I _won’t_ \- Argh!”

“Don’t interrupt me-“

“If you’re going to be pulling my hair like that, you really should by me dinner first. This is all going so _fast_ and I don’t even know your name-“ Juno is cut off with a slap, and not a light one either, this is a full on backhand, and she _really_ knows how to put her body in it.

He thinks he hears a noise of protest somewhere to his right, but he can’t be sure.

His head is ringing, cheek burning and a trickle of blood already running down from where she’s split his lip. It’s not the first time he’s been backhanded like that, not even the hardest, but damn if it doesn’t take a moment for his vision to stop wavering.

“Are you paying attention to me _now_ , Steel?” The woman demands.

Juno opens his mouth, ready to deflect, crack a joke, compliment her on her technique or something, you know, his usual game of pissing off the person beating on him, nothing he hasn’t done plenty of times before. But this time, he thinks better of it.

Instead, he closes his mouth and nods his head with something like caution.

She moves in close, and for a second Juno thinks she’s going to hit him anyway, that his newly discovered sense of self-preservation didn’t mean a damned thing, but she just glares at him, like she’s suspicious of his sudden cooperation.

“Well, it seems you can teach and old dog new tricks,” The woman says, sounding satisfied, “I had expected to have to hit you at least twice more before you stopped interrupting me.”

Juno settles for glaring at her, figuring that he might as well _try_ to avoid another hit for as long as possible.

“Now that you’ve shown you can behave, I’ll get straight to the point, Steel. My name is Lieutenant Morrison, I’m here on behalf of the HCPD--“

“Oh, you’ve got to be _kidding_ me, HCPD? What the hell-“ And _there_ comes the next slap he was trying to delay, and it hurts just as much as the first, but at least this time the stars in his eye fade a little quicker since he was expecting it.

“As I was saying, you are going to confess to the murders of former Mayor Pilot Pereyra and former Mayor Ramses O’Flaherty.”

“The hell I am!” Juno snarls, suddenly furious, “I’m not going to go down for something I didn’t do just because some assholes at the HCPD want to settle a grudge!”

Apparently Morrison wants to keep things interesting because that one earns him a savage punch to the gut instead of a slap and, in between gasping for breath and trying to keep from losing his breakfast all over the floor, he hears Nureyev objecting to the rough treatment.

“Was that _really_ necessary Lieutenant?” Nureyev asks “Surely we can discuss this like reasonable-“

“Stop talking,” Morrison rounds on Nureyev, “I don’t care who you are, I don’t care what you think, the _only_ reason you are still alive is to discourage Steel from trying anything, because the second _either_ of you puts a toe out of line, you die, as painfully as I can manage. Got it?”

Juno can’t see Nureyev, but he sounds like he swallowed something unpleasant when he answers, “Understood.”

“Now, as for _you_ Steel,” Morrison turns back to Juno, looking viciously satisfied as he struggles to even his breathing out, “I know you’re not just going to confess, not right away at any rate. I’m going to have to _persuade_ you. I’ll be honest with you, I’m going to _enjoy_ it.”

“Didn’t they ever teach you that torture doesn’t work?” Juno gasps out.

“It’s true, torture doesn’t work very well if you want _information_ , hurt someone bad enough and they’ll tell you anything you want to hear, but it won’t be the truth. Here’s the thing though Steel, I don’t _need_ the truth from you, I just need you to confess.” Morrison shrugs.

“You want a scapegoat,” Juno breathes, “You know I didn’t kill either of them, but you’re still going to pin it on me?”

“Yes. You’ll resist, of course. I’m under no illusions that this will be _easy_ , or quick. You’ll cooperate eventually though, just to stop the pain. And there _will_ be pain, Steel.” Morrison promises.

“You’ve got to know this isn’t the first time I’ve been roughed up, right?” Juno challenges, looking Morrison in the eye evenly as blood trickles down from his split lip, “Hell, it’s not even the first time I’ve been roughed up by the HCPD.”

“I know, I’ve read your files. It is, however, the first time you’ve been roughed up by _me_ , and I _promise_ you Steel, I’m going to make you wish you’d never been born.” Morrison threatens.

“Ha, jokes on you, lady, I’ve been doing that for more than thirty years!” Juno says smugly.

He regrets it the moment after he says it, not because of the punch to the face, but because of the small, barely-there sound that Nureyev makes, like Juno throwing his issues into Morrison’s teeth hurts him enough that he can’t school his reaction to it, and that? That just makes Juno feel like an ass.

“Oh, I know that, it’s hardly a secret. I didn’t even _need_ to read your psych eval to see that you’ve got a deathwish the size of Olympus Mons. I still did, of course; Persistent depressive disorder, with recurring episodes of major depressive disorder. A history of drug abuse and alcoholism. Ongoing suicidal ideation. A pattern of reckless behaviour and a pathological disregard for your own safety. No _recorded_ suicide attempts, but I’d be willing to bet there have been. Does that sound about right?” Morrison asks, voice thick and syrupy with a sympathy so fake it hurts his ears.

Juno’s throat is dry, a low thrumming through his veins, and he can’t quite tell what it is, not yet.

“Those files are supposed to be private you know?” He rasps.

“Oh, really Steel, why are you surprised? If someone had the pull to send me all the way to Neptune, they’ve got more than enough to get me a copy of your psych eval,” She pats him on the cheek, looking at him like he’s a particularly stupid child, and he can almost feel the condescension through her sharp-nailed fingers, “Honestly, it’s a _miracle_ they let you into the HCPD in the first place, with an evaluation like that. If it hadn’t been for your aim, you would have been out on your ass before you walked in the door. Pity. With that eye of yours gone, you don’t even have that anymore.”

Oh. He knows what that feeling is now, racing up his spine and seizing his lungs and trying to crawl out of his throat like something made of blood and bile and poison. It’s anger, more than anger, it’s _rage_. It fills his veins, making him feel stronger, blanking his thoughts and wiping away the pain in his face and stomach like it was never there, dizzying in its intensity, and it’s so, _so_ tempting to give into it, to let himself feel nothing except righteous fury.

It’s not a _new_ feeling though, this monster crawling inside of him, it’s been there almost as long as he has, and he knows better than to give into it; all it wants is to destroy everything around it. So, he doesn’t. He takes a breath, and he pushes it back down where it belongs. Probably not the _healthiest_ way of dealing with it, but, hell, better than the alternatives.

“Can you go back to hitting me?” Juno asks when he can open his mouth without snarling, “It’s more fun than listening to you play discount therapist.”

“Cute,” Morrison drawls, walking over to the solid looking door set in the wall opposite Juno, “I suppose, if you insist, we can begin.”

Two new people come in through the door, clad in what looks suspiciously like riot gear. The one on the left looks like the kind of lady the Kanagawas would kill to have on their payroll, six and a half feet of pure muscle and a sharp, vicious smile that makes you think she’s _itching_ for an excuse to use it. The one on the left is smaller, wiry and mean looking with a nose that’s been broken and set badly at least once and cold, flat eyes.

“So, slapping me around just now was, what, foreplay?’ Juno mutters.

Morrison doesn’t say anything, just folds her eyes and watched while Muscles hits him in the chest with all the force and finesse of a freight train. His head snaps back from the power of it, mouth open in a short, harsh cry as the air is driven from his lungs, as he feels bone crack and _break_.

His vision whites out for a moment, maybe longer, before he remembers how to breath, sucking in air with a ragged pant.

Through the ringing of his ears he hears Nureyev, voice low but strained with worry, “Juno!”

He takes a few more breaths before he answers, “M’fine Swann. Not my first beating, remember?”

He feels like he’d probably be more reassuring if his voice wasn’t so weak.

“Did I say you two could talk to each other? Knock it off Steel, or I’ll see if your friend can take a hit better than you can.” Morrison says testily.

“No passing notes in class, _fine_.” Juno huffs.

Morrison nods at Muscles again, and Juno tries to brace himself for the next hit. It isn’t as hard as the first, that had been an opening shot, a demonstration of what Muscles _could_ do to him. The second, the third, the fourth, they were less powerful, less ‘one massive blow’ and more ‘sustained beating’.

It still hurt like hell. Blow upon blow, bruise upon bruise, layering over his chest, his stomach, his arms, over the broken rib from the first hit. He didn’t try to count the hits past the tenth, he knew from experience that it wouldn’t help, that focusing on how many times Muscles slammed her fist into him would just make it worse. It was easier to let it all blend together.

He could hear the low gasps and cries coming from his own throat. He wasn’t even trying to stifle them. See, he’d done that before, bit his lip until it bled to keep whoever was beating on him from hearing how much they were hurting him, clinging to pride and stubbornness. It never helped.

So, he let himself show how much getting the shit kicked out of him _hurt_ , and if Muscles or Morrison or Dead-eyes thought that made him weak, then that was _their_ mistake.

He _did_ feel bad that Nureyev had to hear this though, that he was tied up and forced to watch and listen Juno getting beaten half to hell because he got dragged into his mess.

At least it wasn’t like the Martian tomb this time. At least he wasn’t having to listen to _Nureyev_ being tortured. That had been worse.

This still _sucks_. No matter how many beatings you take, it’s just not something you can get used to. The solid thwack of fist hitting flesh, the ropes that dig into your skin and the pain, hot and heavy and _everywhere_. The way your head rings and you can’t see straight and your hearing fades in and out. No room left for thought, only pain.

The hits just _keep_ coming. He does his best to breathe through them, when he can. He tries to keep his head above water for as long as possible.

Eventually though, inevitably, he sinks. He drowns. The pain washes over him, darkness on the edges of his vision, and he doesn’t have the strength to fight it anymore.

He gives in with a sigh.

* * *

The problem with passing out from pain is that it’s _temporary_ , and the pain is always right there waiting for you when you get back.

It’s the first thing that Juno’s aware of, dragging him mercilessly out of the black haze and forcing him back into the land of the heavily-injured-but-living. It doesn’t hit him all at once so much as it crawls inside his bones and makes itself comfortable. _Everything_ hurts, from the tip of his toes to the ends of his hair, and he knows that’s not physically possible but that doesn’t make it any less true.

It’s not the _worst_ shape he’s ever woken up in; he doesn’t feel like he’s bleeding out, it doesn’t feel like he’s been stabbed, and aside from the stun blast from earlier he’s pretty sure he hasn’t been shot, so at least that’s a plus.

Still, this definitely makes the top ten, maybe even the top five if he’s judging by the sheer amount of pain he’s in.

Lying perfectly still and trying not to move would probably be the best course of action, but unfortunately, if he wants to live (and he _does_ ok? It’s a surprise to him too) he kind of needs to breathe. Right now, breathing is _agony_ , like his chest is being crushed, and the pain leaves him breathless and gasping, which _really_ doesn’t help, and, well, maybe he’s going to pass out again anyway.

“Shh Juno,” there’s a voice close by, almost on top of him, Nureyev’s voice, “You need to keep calm and breathe. Just focus on me, ok?”

Nureyev’s voice is calm, confident, and Juno can hear him breathing deep and even. It takes a few moments, but soon Juno is matching his breaths. It still hurts, a _lot_ , but at least he’s able to catch his breath.

Now that he’s not in danger of passing out again, he tries to get a feel for where he is, without opening his eye anyway, he already has a killer headache, he’s not going to make it worse until he has to.

He’s lying down on the cold floor, well, most of him is anyway. His head and shoulders are resting on something firm, but warm and- moving slightly?

Ah. His head is sitting in Nureyev’s lap. That would explain it. There’s a hand carding through his hair gently. It’s… nice.

“Are you with me, Juno?” Nureyev asks softly.

Juno doesn’t know if he has the energy to speak, so he doesn’t, just makes a humming sound that _could_ be interpreted as agreement and moves his head, just the tiniest fraction, to bump against the fingers in his hair.

Nureyev’s hand stills for a moment before resuming its motion.

“You should rest some more if you can,” Nureyev says, voice strained with… something, “I’ll wake you if I hear anyone coming.”

Juno hums again in agreement, relaxing as best he can into Nureyev’s lap and letting the hand in his hair lull him into something like sleep.

* * *

When he wakes again, he’s feeling a bit more alert. Everything still hurts like hell, but he’s recovered enough that he can actually open his eye this time.

The room they’re in isn’t much; a bare concrete floor, four sturdy walls and a very solid looking door that’s clearly a recent addition, given it’s lacking the thick coating of dust, rust and grime that coats the rest of the place. There’s no bedding of any sort, clearly Morrison is even less concerned for his comfort than Miasma had been.

Really, this situation is just familiar enough that he can’t help but think of those weeks spent in that Martian tomb. Maybe it’s waking up feeling like death only slightly warmed over. Maybe it’s waking up next to Peter Nureyev. He never thought he’d get to do that again.

It takes some doing, by he manages to lever himself into something like a sitting position, so he’s leaning against Nureyev rather than lying _on_ him.

“How long was I out?” He asks muzzily.

“Around six hours by my guess.” Nureyev says, and Juno can hear the strain in his voice.

He looks a Nureyev, sees the tightness around his eyes and the first hint of shadows under them, and he’s willing to bet the man hasn’t managed to snatch even a scrap of sleep.

“They’ll probably be back for us in an hour or two,” Juno sighs, “You should rest while you can.”

“You need it more,” Nureyev argues, something almost harsh in his voice, “I’m not the one getting beaten half to death.”

“It’s not _half_ to death, more like a quarter,” Juno fires back, “A _third_ at most.”

Peter tenses, his mouth tightening to a firm line and something hard in his eyes, “That’s not _amusing_ , Juno.”

“Yeah, well, I’m having an off day. Sue me.,” Juno huffs, but Peter still looks angry about it, “Look, it was a joke. I mean, not a very _good_ joke, but still-“

“Was it though?” Nureyev interrupts, “You always make light of it when you get hurt, when you’re in danger. _Is_ it just a joke, Juno?”

Juno stops, looks at Nureyev, _really_ looks. It’s not just tiredness making his face tight, there’s worry there, fear, not for himself, but for Juno. That’s… he could understand it, if it was just the injuries Nureyev was worried about, or the fact that they were being held captive again, that Juno was being _tortured_ again. But Juno gets the feeling that’s not the only thing Nureyev is worried about.

“Is this about what Morrison said?” Juno asks, confused.

Nureyev doesn’t give him an answer, and that, well it’s enough of an answer on its own.

“You told me you’d researched me, back when we were running that train heist, when you were so sure I could make that shot. I thought you knew.” Juno says at last.

“I didn’t read your psych evaluation, there are _some_ lines I don’t like to cross,” Nureyev says with a seemingly casual tone, “Besides, I don’t like relying on someone else’s judgement of a person.”

“So why start now?” Juno asks flatly, “Why get so caught up on what some government mandated psychologist said about me over a decade ago?”

“Because from the minute I met you you’ve been throwing yourself headlong into danger at every opportunity, and you don’t seem to care if you get hurt!” Nureyev snaps, “I thought you were just reckless, that maybe you just liked the thrill, the danger. I didn’t think you were actively trying to get yourself _killed_!”

Juno flinches back, “I _wasn’t_.”

“You stepped in front of a blade for me-“

“That was aiming for your _head_ -r-“

“You swallowed that damn Martian pill knowing it could kill you-“

“Miasma’s goons were going to find me and kill me anyway-“

“You put a _gun_ to your head Juno! You locked yourself in a room with a monster and a superweapon!”

“It was-“

“No! No excuses. I had to watch you get hurt, had to watch you put yourself in danger over and over, and you didn’t even seem to _care_!” Nureyev shouts, and his voice is thick, eyes glistening.

“N-  Swann…” Juno says, but, well, what is he supposed to _say_?

“Well I _do_ care, Juno. Hurting yourself, throwing your life away? It affects _more_ than just you.” Nureyev says lowly, tiredly.

“I know,” Juno says hoarsely, “Damn it, I _know_. Why do you think…” Juno trails off, looking down.

“Why do I think _what_?” Nureyev asks quietly.

“Why do you think I left?” Juno finishes, just as quiet.

He flinches as he says it, Nureyev does too.

Juno laughs, a low, wrecked sound, “See? Even when I don’t mean to, I _hurt_ you. I thought I could do it, you know? I really thought I could go with you, up until the moment you said that you’d fallen in love.”

“Juno, if you’re trying not to hurt me, you’re going about it in the wrong-“

“See, if it was just _me_ that had fallen in love then it was ok. We’d travel the stars together, and we’d be happy, for a while, and then when it ended, _I’d_ be the only one getting hurt. But you- you said you _loved_ me, and that meant that you’d stick around. So I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Nureyev asks.

“Loving me? That was a front row ticket to watching me self-destruct, and I couldn’t, I _couldn’t_ do that, not to _you_ ,” Juno admits, voice cracking despite his best efforts, “You deserve so much better than that, than _me_.”

“You’re the only one of us who sees it that way Juno,” Nureyev says softly, “I’m a thief, a liar, a killer. I’ve spent my life running from planet to planet, and, while I can say I try not to hurt anyone I don’t need to, I’ve caused more than my fair share of pain.”

“I _know_ you,” Juno shakes his head, unable to keep himself from looking at Nureyev with something like awe, “I’ve been in your head, remember? You’re better than you think you are.”

“There you go again, believing the best about me.” Nureyev sighs, reluctantly fond.

“Well, you’ve never let me down before.” Juno says plainly with a shrug.

They sit in silence for a while, and if it’s a little awkward, well, that’s what you get when you drag out the broken pieces of what could have been while trapped together in a small room.

“Let’s just… not fight, ok?” Juno suggests tiredly, “You’re pissed with me, I _get_ that, but I just… I don’t want to fight.”

“Ok. I’ll drop it for now, Juno,” Nureyev agrees, sounding just as worn, “We _will_ have to talk about this sooner or later, but I don’t want to fight with you either. Besides, you should rest.”

“We should _both_ rest,” Juno reminds him, “Just because they’re not actively hurting you doesn’t mean you don’t need to sleep.”

“Ok, we’ll _both_ rest,” Nureyev agrees, shuffling so they’ve both got their backs to the wall, “Lean on me.”

And once, Juno might have argued, might have insisted that he was fine on his own. Honestly, they’re both past pretending at this point. He moves carefully, trying not to jostle his injuries more than he has to, until he’s leaning against Nureyev, resting his head on the taller man’s shoulder with a small sigh.

Nureyev leans into him too, bringing his head down to rest gently on top of Juno’s.

It’s not the most comfortable of sleeping arrangements, but even in a place like this, there’s something to be said for not falling asleep alone.

* * *

Juno wakes up to someone gently shaking his shoulder and a low voice in his ear.

“Wake up Juno. We’re about to have company.”

He can hear the heavy footsteps outside the door now, and he has just enough time to open his eye and haul himself into something that could be called sitting before it opens.

Even if he had been fully alert and _not_ in excruciating pain, there wasn’t much he could do against the four armed guards who rushed into the small cell, two blasters aimed at him, two aimed at Nureyev, who’s somehow already gotten to his feet.

“Hell of a wakeup call.” Juno grumbles.

Muscles is there, Dead-eyes too, the other two haven’t earned nicknames yet but he’s sure he’ll come up with something.

“On your feet Steel,” Dead-eyes says coolly, “I’d rather not have to waste time stunning you, but I will if I have to.”

“Yeah yeah, give me a second.” Juno tries to pull himself up. Key word being _tries_. His legs have fallen asleep from sitting on the hard concrete, he hasn’t eaten or drunk anything in around a day, and the moment he moves his body sees fit to remind him that he’s got a broken rib and god knows how many bruises. He makes it nearly a third of the way up before his legs give out and he crashes back to the ground with a pained groan.

“Stop messing around Steel!” Muscles growls, her voice just as mean as the rest of her.

“Look I’m _trying_ ok? If your going to beat a lady up don’t complain if he’s a little stiff the morning after!” Juno snaps back, exhausted and irritated even though he’s only been awake for about a minute.

“Here, Juno.” Nureyev says softly, slowly moving to hold his hands out to help Juno up.

Part of him wants to refuse, unwilling to show weakness in front of the HCPD’s goons, but between his own stubborn pride and Peter Nureyev’s eyes filled with gentle concern, it’s no contest.

He nods at Nureyev gratefully and takes his hands, and, with his help, he’s able to get to his feet with only _mild_ agony. Ok, not really, it hurts like _hell_ , but he keeps that to himself and tries to shoot Nureyev a reassuring smile. Ok, it’s more of a grimace, so he’s probably missed the mark a bit there.

“So sweet,” Muscles drawls, voice still dripping with menace, “Now step away from each other, hands up.”

Juno raises his hands without even complaining about it, and off to his side Nureyev does the same. Muscles and one of the other guards grab Juno, Dead-eyes and the last grab Nureyev, and then they’re being marched out of their cell and down the hallway, where Juno is willing to bet all manner of unpleasant things are waiting for him.

Still, he _does_ know when to pick his battles, and it’s not worth struggling as they drag him into the same large room he’d first woken up in and roughly tie him back to the chair. The ropes around his calves aren’t too bad, the ones at his forearms bite into his skin a little, but the ropes around his chest, pressing tightly on his bruised and broken ribs? Those were a special brand of agony.

By the time Muscles and her friend are done with the ropes, Morrison has shown up, looking just as impatient as ever.

“So, how’d you sleep?” Juno asks innocently, “I hope _your_ room was better than _mine_. The service was-“

Damn. Morrison just _won’t_ quit it with the slapping.

“Quiet. The only thing I want to hear from you is a confession, Steel.” Morrison barks.

“Well, get used to disappointment lady. I’m not confessing to _shit_.” Juno fires back, ignoring the stinging in his face and the fresh blood on his lip.

“You will. The only question is how much you have to suffer before that happens,” Morrison promises, “Now I don’t suppose you’re going to do the smart thing and give in before we have to get _nasty_?”

“I’m not usually known for doing the _smart_ thing,” Juno shrugs painfully, “Don’t see any point in starting now.”

“Have it your way then,” Morrison says, not looking surprised at all by Juno’s refusal, “Remember, Steel. This can be over whenever you want it to be. Any pain beyond this point? That’s on _you_ , not me.”

“Pretty sure it doesn’t work that way Morrison.” Juno snorts, darkly amused.

“Pretty sure I didn’t ask your opinion Steel,” Morrison steps back from him and nods at Dead-eyes, “He’s all yours.”

Dead-eyes walks forwards, and while Morrison is smug and self-satisfied, and Muscles pretty much defines the word _menacing_ , Dead-eyes just looks bored, even as he pulls out a stun baton, adjust the settings on the side and jabs it firmly into Juno’s shoulder.

The electricity rips through him, locking up all his muscles and he couldn’t scream if he wanted to with the way his jaw clamps shut. After a moment or two, the baton is drawn away.

Dead-eyes still looks bored. He’s taking something else out of his pocket and walking towards Juno. Juno leans away without even thinking about it.

“Open your mouth please.” Dead-eyes asks calmly.

“Why?” Juno demands, willing his voice not to shake.

Dead-eyes holds up the object, it’s a rubber mouthguard of some sort, “So I can put this between your teeth, so you don’t break them when you clench your jaw. It’s up to you, if you _want_ shattered teeth, then by all means, refuse.”

Juno holds Dead-eyes’ gaze with his own, and there’s nothing there, nothing to get a read on, just a sort of detached professionalism that makes his skin crawl.

Wordlessly he opens his mouth, allowing Dead-eyes to put the rubber guard it. He’s not rough about it, and that somehow makes it even worse.

There’s no warning before the baton comes down again, this time on his leg. Again, the shock tears through him for a few seconds that feel a _lot_ longer, before it’s pulled away.

He’s given a moment to breathe, and then it comes again, against his side. Again, on his arm. Again, back to the shoulder. Each shock is delivered for the same few seconds, with the same pause in between, so regular that he can time his breathing by it. And he does.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Shock.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Shock.

It’s steady, and it feels like he should be getting used to it, but he’s not, he _can’t_. It’s not even that the shocks are particularly strong, they’re _not_ , he’s had worse. It’s more that it’s constant. Inescapable. A cycle of pain and anticipation and pain, all set to the tempo of his own breathing.

Time passes in perfectly measured moments of pain. He can’t tell you how much, he hasn’t been keeping count, doesn’t want to know precisely how many times Dead-eyes brings the stun baton down, how many breaths Juno spends waiting for the next shock, how long his whole world narrows down to pain and breathing and more pain.

He thinks he probably loses some time. It’s hard to tell, no, with each moment exactly the same as the one before it, with the only variety being _where_ Dead-eyes chooses to shock him next, it’s _impossible_ to tell. He could be missing seconds, minutes, longer, and he wouldn’t know.

He does the only thing he can. He breathes through it. He endures. There’s nothing but this moment, and the next, and the next, and the thought that eventually, it will end.

It _has_ to end, right?

Breathe.

Breathe.

 _Breathe_.

* * *

Juno comes back to himself, eventually, to the realization that there hasn’t been a shock in… who knows how long?

He’s hanging limply against the ropes, the pain in his chest all but drowned out by the pain over his entire body. His breathing is shaky and irregular, as if without something to time it to he’s forgotten how.

There are voices around him, but they really don’t seem that important, so he doesn’t bother to pay attention.

At least until his head is being yanked up by a firm grip in his hair anyway.

“Ow…” He says vaguely, trying to focus on who’s touching him.

It’s… Morrison? Yes. It’s Morrison, shouting in face.

“Wake up Steel, you don’t get to waste my time by checking out on me!”

He blinks a few times, trying to figure out what she wants from him, but by the time he’s mustered enough energy to open his mouth she releases his hair with a snarl of frustration, letting his head drop back down against his chest.

“Take them back to their cell, let them stew for a while,” Morrison snaps at Dead-eyes, “We’ll come back to this later, try not to screw it up next time Makov.”

Juno barely notices as he’s untied, as he’s all but carried back to the cell and thrown into it. Hard.

He hisses slightly as the fall scrapes up the skin on his arms, but doesn’t try to move from where he’s landed, figuring one patch of concrete is much the same as the next.

Distantly he hears Nureyev settling beside him, murmuring a soft litany of words that he can’t focus enough to understand. There’s a touch on his shoulder, gentle but firm, solid and real when nothing else feels like it is.

It’s some time before he’s… present enough that he can actually hear Nureyev. It doesn’t matter much actually, he can’t understand it, it’s not Solar.

“What language is that?” Juno asks at last, voice rusty.

“Brahmese, just an old story, I thought- Are you back with me?” Nureyev asks, switching back to Solar.

“I think so,” Juno says, trying to move a little, “Not too sure really. Everything’s still a bit off. That… that really _sucked_.”

“I know. I haven’t seen you… leave like that since the Martian tomb.” Nureyev says, and he sounds about as rattled as Juno feels.

“That was mostly me forcing my brain to do something it was never built for and overloading it in the process,” Juno says plainly, “This was just regular old disassociation. It happens sometimes, when everything’s just… too much.”

“It happens,” Nureyev sighs in agreement, “Well at least it’s just a natural consequence of being tortured and not something worse.”

Juno huffs a quiet laugh, “Gotta’ look for the bright side I suppose.”

Nureyev hums in agreement, and they sit there in silence for a while. Well, Nureyev sits, Juno just sort of lies there, not willing to muster the energy to move.

“So,” Juno says at last, quiet so he’s sure only Nureyev can hear him, “How’s that escape attempt coming?”

Nureyev sighs, “Stalled, I’m afraid. There’s plenty of ways to get out of this room, but we don’t know the layout of the building, or how many guards there are in total, and with the extent of your injuries attempting an escape without a solid plan would be extremely foolish.”

“Could you escape on your own?” Juno asks.

“Easily,” Nureyev admits, “But I’m not going to.”

“Why not? I’m in no condition to escape, but _you_ can.” Juno stresses.

“I thought we’d discussed how I feel about you disregarding your own safety Juno-“

“This isn’t about that,” Juno says firmly, pushing himself up to look Nureyev in the eye, “This is about you getting out, getting _reinforcements_ and coming back for me. You’ve done it before. I trust you.”

“You’re right. I’ve left you behind before, and I _won’t_ do it again,” Nureyev swears, low and serious, “I was almost too late last time, there was a gun to your head Juno, Miasma’s assistant had their finger on the trigger!”

“I know,” Juno says, throat dry with the memory of it, “I know, ok. I was pretty sure I was going to die there, but I didn’t. You weren’t too late.”

“I wasn’t too late,” Nureyev agrees, softly laying a hand on Juno’s cheek as if to reassure himself he’s still there, “ _That_ time. I’m not willing to risk leaving you behind again. Not ever.”

And there’s… there’s nothing Juno can say to that, is there?

“Ok. Ok,” Juno brings his hand up to Nureyev’s, lacing their fingers, “So we hold out, and we wait for the others.”

“You trust them enough to come for us?” Nureyev asks, as if the idea of people having his back is a new one, and, well, Juno doesn’t blame him for that.

“I trust Buddy not to write us off without even trying to get us back, yes. I’m not sure about Vespa, I don’t know her well enough. I’m pretty sure Jet would at least attempt a rescue. So yes, I trust them enough. But none of that matters, because more than trusting them, I trust _Rita_.” Juno breathes quietly, certainly.

“There’s not a thing in the universe that Rita couldn’t track down if she wanted to, and that _includes_ you and me. She’ll find us, and she’ll hijack that damned spaceship and kick the others out the door with orders to not come back until they’ve rescued us if she has to.”

Juno can feel a small, fond smile on his face, and he doesn’t even try to hide it from Nureyev.

“Can you hold out long enough for them to find us?” Nureyev asks, gentle but serious, “I know you’re strong, Juno, but we both know that they’re only going to ramp things up from here.”

“I can hold out,” Juno says, and he _means_ it, “Morrison’s made a mistake. She’s read my files, and she thinks that means she knows me, knows what I’m capable of. She doesn’t. _I_ don’t even know what I’m capable of, not yet. I know I’m stronger than she thinks I am though, and I am _not_ letting her drag me down for something I didn’t do.”

“I’m glad,” Nureyev smiles at him, relieved and concerned at the same time, “We’re going to get out of here, Juno. Remember that.”

“I’ll try,” Juno says, “Just- if I forget? If it looks like I’m- remind me. Please?”

“Of course,” Nureyev promises, “Of course I will, Juno.”

Juno nods and closes his eyes, holding onto this feeling, to the certainty that he’s not alone, to the belief that they’ll both get out of this.

They have to.

* * *

At some point the guards return, and instead of immediately dragging them out and tying them to chairs, they toss a couple of sealed water bottles at them.

“Drink. We don’t have time for you to keep passing out, Steel.” Dead-eyes orders.

“Well maybe if people would stop hitting me quite so hard, I’d stop passing out?” Juno snarks, “Just a thought.”

He doesn’t get an answer, but hey, he wasn’t really expecting much of one. He opens the water and starts taking slow, gradual sips. He’s dealt with dehydration enough times to know that downing the whole bottle in one go is a great way to make yourself sick. Nureyev is doing the same.

After they’ve drunk the water the guards move in again, weapons up and aimed at the two of them. Juno raises his hands, so does Nureyev, but Dead-eyes shakes his head. “Just you this time Steel.”

Nureyev looks like he’s ready to argue, which would be _stupid_ because of the whole ‘guns pointed in his direction’ thing, so Juno pushes himself up with a groan and moves forwards, stepping away from Nureyev.

“ _Juno_ -“ Nureyev starts quietly.

“Don’t do anything dumb, I’ll be fine.” Juno shakes his head at Nureyev, hoping the other man backs down, because this is a _very_ bad time for a fight.

“You’d better be.” Nureyev sighs at last, moving away into the corner with his hands raised to show he’s not going to try anything.

The guards grab his arms and tie them behind him roughly, dragging him out of the room and into the hallway, but they don’t go back to the same large room he’s been being tortured in.

“So guys, where are we going this time? I hope it’s somewhere fun.” Juno attempts to banter, but no one seems interested in engaging him, which is a shame because he’s a delight. Ok, not really.

The room they push him into this time is small, mostly empty, except for a large metal tub sitting in the floor, filled to the brim with water, and oh, look, someone’s been considerate enough to throw in some ice.

Morrison is standing by the tub with a nasty smile and it doesn’t take a detective to see where this is going. The guards march him into the centre of the room and force him to his knees in front of the tub.

 “Really?” Juno asks, raising an eyebrow, “We’re going _that_ oldschool?”

“Classics never go out of style,” Morrison shrugs, “It might be low tech, but that doesn’t make it any less effective.”

“Oh, y’know, except for the risk of drowning. Or secondary drowning. Or developing a lung infection.” Juno argues with a shrug, eyeing the water as if it’s personally offended him. Or as if he’s really not looking forward to getting dunked in it. Really, he’s going to go with _both_.

“Well, if you want to avoid it, you know there’s an easy way out,” Morrison says lightly, “Just save us all the trouble and confess already.”

“Yeah, I’m going to take a hard pass on that, thanks.” Juno says.

“I don’t see why you’re making this so much harder on yourself,” Morrison says, shaking her head and looking disappointed, “This doesn’t have to get nasty. Just let us film a confession, we’ll ship you back to Mars, a quick trial for the public, you plead guilty, the public feels safe, the HCPD does their job, everyone’s a winner.”

“Yeah, except _me_. Call me selfish-“ Juno starts.

“You get to die quickly and painlessly, hell, cooperate enough and I’ll even make sure it’s _private_ ,” Morrison says, like that should tempt him, “It’s the best offer you’re going to get, Steel.”

Morrison is acting like it’s a good deal, like dying with something approaching dignity is the best he could ever hope to get, and hell, once he might have even been tempted. Even at his lowest point though, and he’s had a _lot_ of low points, he probably would have refused her out of pure spite.

Dying was one thing. He’d spent plenty of time wishing he was dead, plenty of time trying to _get_ dead, and he’d come pretty damn close a time or ten.

Letting someone frame him for murder, going down just to make sure a bunch of cops got their bragging rights? Like _hell_ he was doing that.

“Well, you can take your offer and stick it straight up your-“

She doesn’t let him finish, grabbing the back of his head and dunking him mercilessly under the bitingly cold water. It’s probably for the best, there wasn’t really a way to end that sentence without being crude, and he likes to think he’s better than that.

The cold makes all the bruises and cuts on his face sting, makes his eye water and his bones ache. The steady pressure in his lungs from being forced to hold his breath isn’t helping things either. His head is pounding, lungs screaming, and really this is just as unpleasant as he’d thought it would be and he would _really_ like it to stop.

When it feels like even a moment more will be enough to make his lungs burst, he’s dragged back out and thrown carelessly to the ground, gasping desperately for air like a goldfish out of water, only with fewer heads.

He’s only given a moment to recover before he’s hauled back up.

“Change your mind yet, Steel?”

He doesn’t have the breath to say anything witty, hell, to be honest he can’t even think of anything witty right now, so he settles for glaring.

He thinks she gets the point, judging by the way she plunges his head back into the water.

It doesn’t get easier the second time, or the third, or whichever time it is when he stops trying to count.

The cold water is its own flavour of hell. If the beating Muscles dished out had been hot and heavy and crushing, and the shocks Dead-eyes had delivered had made him feel empty and hollow and shaken his mind loose for a while, the feeling of constantly fighting for air is… it’s pain in his lungs and head, his whole body shaking from cold and exhaustion and _terror_.

He’s fighting to keep from breathing in water, fighting so hard for every single breath of air and it’s not enough, there’s never enough, he can’t catch his breath before he’s shoved back in to fight all over again. He’s on the very edge, every moment a mad, _desperate_ struggle to stay alive.

And that’s the problem with this kind of torture. It’s terrifying and painful and easy enough that any lowlife with even a scrap of resourcefulness can manage, but if you keep it up for long…

Someone slips.

Sometimes it’s the torturer, holding the victim’s head down just a _little_ too long.

Sometimes it’s the victim, panicked and exhausted and unable to keep from breathing in.

Sometimes it’s bad luck and an unfortunate combination of both.

Juno slips, and he breathes, and his lungs fill with water. He thrashes weakly, desperately, but hey, he’s been doing a _lot_ of thrashing, so Morrison just ignores him. It’s not until he feels himself fading, until he uses up the last of his energy, until he hangs limp in water with darkness encroaching that she finally notices that something’s wrong.

But by then…

Well, Juno’s past noticing.

He doesn’t notice being pulled out, doesn’t notice Morrison yelling in his face, doesn’t notice barked orders and the rushing of the guards.

It’s not until minutes later, with a final heavy slam against his already abused ribs that he’s dragged back to awareness, rolling over to cough out water and bile and what feels like most of his lungs.

There’s a lot of noise, but he can’t be bothered trying to make sense of it, he’s too busy coughing and wheezing and trying to drag in as much air as he can.

The heavy boot slamming into his ribs really doesn’t make things any better, just causes him to lose what little breath he’d managed to grab hold of and leaves him shaking and winded.

“Get the _hell_ up Steel!” Morrison is standing over his and snarling, face twisted with fury, any trace of her usual smugness completely gone, “Stop wasting my time!”

There’s another boot coming his way, and he rolls out of the way enough that it hits him in the shoulder rather than the ribs, falling onto his back with a thud and staring up at Morrison, helpless to do anything in the face of her losing control like this.

“You really _suck_ at this!” Juno gasps out weakly, “Unless you’re just trying to kill me. Are you?”

“Shut up!” Morrison half screams out, aiming another kick at Juno. He’s to exhausted to even try to move out of the way, he just lets in land on his chest with a flinch.

Morrison is stalking away, so angry she’s shaking, and she looks about half a jump off killing him from sheer frustration, which would really suck because Juno _doesn’t want to die_.

“Makov!” She snaps, “You and the others take over for now. I don’t care what you do to him, just don’t kill him. If I stay here, I _will_.”

Dead-eyes’ face doesn’t change, but Muscles and the other guards grin viciously, clearly happy to be given free reign over how to make Juno miserable. Still, right now he’d take the gleeful guards who wanted to make him suffer over their homicidally angry boss.

Juno takes a moment to reflect on what particular bad choices he made that led to him lying on a dirty concrete floor, dripping wet and shaking and surrounded by people that wanted to kick the shit out of him for fun, and feeling _relieved_.

After some thought he concludes he’s made too many bad choices to narrow it down, so he goes ahead and blames _all_ of them.

The boot coming towards him isn’t a surprise, kicking someone when they’re down might not be _official_ HCPD procedure, but it’s close enough. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if they taught it at the academy. He must have missed that day though, he’s had a lot more practice _taking_ beatings then dishing them out.

Hell, Juno thinks he’s probably the closest thing to an expert on the subject there is. So it’s second nature to curl up as best he can with his arms still bound behind his back, to bring his knees up and his head down and try not to catch a boot or fist anywhere _too_ important.

It hurts, of course it does, but it’s a familiar sort of hurt, nothing he hasn’t dealt with more times then he could even begin to count, at the hands and feet of everyone from cops to mob bosses, from people he’d pissed off by doing his job, from _clients_ he’d pissed off by doing his job, by ex-lovers and ex-friends and ex-bosses who’d decided that they wanted to kick his teeth in.

And that should make it easier to deal with, but it doesn’t, not really. All it does is make him _tired._

There’s nothing he can do though, except to hold out, for as long as he can.

Endure. Take the beating. It’s just pain. He’s survived worse.

He’ll survive this too.

“Alright, enough,” Dead-eyes calls at last, “I don’t want him fainting again.”

Muscles and the other two look disappointed, but they step back without argument, leaving Juno curled up in a bloodied and bruised heap.

He doesn’t try to move, just does his best to assess the damage. His mouth is full of blood from where he’s bitten through his lip, from the blows that have managed to hit his face, but he carefully runs his tongue over his teeth and none of them are gone, so that’s a plus. He’s not too sure about the rest of him, his ribs are a white hot spike of pain but he can’t tell if that means he’s got _more_ broken ribs or if it’s just the one from before. He suspects he’s got at least a few more cracked by this point. Beyond that, well, _everything_ hurts, even more than it did before, but he’s not sure he’s just really badly bruised or if there are more injuries he hasn’t noticed yet. He hopes not, broken ribs are bad enough.

It would be nice if he could just lie there for a little bit longer, but Dead-eyes apparently has other ideas, because he’s being hauled back up and forced to his knees again, and for a moment he panics because if they try to dunk him in the water again, honestly he’s not sure if he’d survive drowning again.

It seems Dead-eyes knows this though, because no one makes a move towards the tub. Instead, Dead-eyes draws a long, wicked looking plasma blade.

Oh. So _that’s_ the plan.

He doesn’t like this plan.

“You know the deal, Steel,” Dead-eyes says, bored, “Are you going to make this easy on yourself and confess?”

“And miss out on the party?” Juno tries to joke, eyeing the knife warily, “No thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” Dead-eyes shrugs, nodding at Muscles, who comes up behind Steel and places two massive hands on his arms, holding him in place, “Please stay still, I wouldn’t want my knife to slip.”

Dead-eyes’ hand flicks out, faster than Juno’s eye can track, and the blade slices into Juno’s shoulder, leaving a shallow cut behind. He cries out, flinching away, but Muscles holds him firmly and he can’t go anywhere.

The knife flashes again, opening up a matching cut on the other shoulder. Neither of them is particularly deep, but they _hurt_ , enough to make him squeeze his eye shut. There’s blood flowing down his arms, not a _lot_ of it, but more than he likes. Really, _any_ amount of blood is more than he likes.

Dead-eyes takes a step closer knife coming up to rest lazily just next to Juno’s cheek, close enough he can feel the vibrations coming off it, and Juno goes very, _very_ still, barely even daring to breathe with a blade this close to his face.

“I’d suggest holding still,” Dead-eyes says calmly, “I don’t need to tell you what happens if you flinch.”

Juno doesn’t speak, or nod, but then Dead-eyes doesn’t expect him to.

There’s a hand on his right shoulder now, Dead-eyes is inspecting the slash there with a critical eye, pulling away the cloth to get an idea of the damage, and Juno would pull away, but he has a knife in his face, so that’s not really an option.

Dead-eyes hand is getting closer to the cut now, probing around it, and suddenly he digs his thumb _in._

Juno makes a high, strangled sound, fighting every instinct in his body that’s screaming at him to move away from the person digging their fingers _into_ him.

His breath comes in short, harsh pants, a fine tremor running over his entire body, and he can feel the blade, just barely touching his cheek, just by a hair, enough that a single drop of blood is spilt, trickling down his cheek to drop off his jaw and hit the floor.

Dead-eyes makes a disappointed sound, slowly removing his fingers from the cut and wiping them on Juno’s sleeve roughly. The knife is pulled away from his cheek, and Juno can’t help but go limp in relief, but a moment later it’s being plunged into the meat of his thigh.

Juno tosses his head back with a guttural scream, sagging so that Muscles is the only thing holding him up.

The knife is still in his leg, being held perfectly still by Dead-eyes.

“Steel, look at me.” Dead-eyes orders.

“Screw you!” Juno pants, keeping his eye squeezed shut as he tries to block out the pain.

Dead-eye _twists_ the knife, and Juno screams again, louder, harsher, his eye shooting open. He’s shaking again, honestly, he doesn’t know if he’d ever stopped. The knife moves again, just a tiny movement, a threat, and it’s enough to make him obey.

He looks at Dead-eyes, trying to keep his vision from swimming out of focus.

“How long are you going to keep this up, Steel?” Dead-eyes asks, “It’s been two days. We’re prepared to keep hurting you for weeks, _longer_ if we have to. It doesn’t matter how long you hold out, you’re going to break eventually.”

“Yeah, probably,” Juno says, words slurred, “Not gonna confess though. D’sn’t matter how much you torture me.”

Dead-eyes stares at him for a few moments, and Juno wants to hold his gaze, but his vision is blurry.

Finally, Dead-eyes looks away with a small, frustrated sound that’s the most emotion Juno’s heard from him this whole time. Then he _rips_ the knife out of his leg.

Things get a little _fuzzy_ after that, but Juno doesn’t pass out this time. He’s still mostly conscious as they drag him down the hallway to his cell, opening the door and dropping him in with less care than you’d show a bag of garbage.

“Juno!” Nureyev is racing forwards the moment the door is shut, face pale, and Juno must _really_ look bad because he hasn’t seen Nureyev look that scared, not even back in the tomb.

“’M’okay,” Juno slurs, “Just a little… stabbed. And bruised. And I’m pretty sure I drowned for a bit back there.”

“That’s pretty far from okay Juno.” Nureyev says, voice subdued, hands gentle but steady as he checks over all the fresh injuries he can find, and there are plenty of them.

“I know.” Juno sighs in agreement, he knows he has to look almost as bad as he feels right now, but there’s not much he can do about that.

“We need to bandage this.” Nureyev says, looking at the wound on Juno’s leg. Juno’s been trying to avoid thinking about it, much less looking at it, but he can feel the blood soaking through the leg of his pants.

Steadying himself, Juno looks down. The stab wound looks ragged and _deep_ , and he can only glance at it for a moment before he has to turn away, nauseous at the sight of his own blood.

“That’s not good, is it?” Juno asks weakly.

“I’ve seen worse.” Nureyev is smiling brightly at him, and it looks like it’s probably meant to be reassuring, but Juno knows him well enough to see the worry underneath it.

“N- _Swann_ , I’d rather just know how bad it is than have to wonder, ok?” Juno asks.

“It’s bad enough. I can stop the bleeding here, but it’s deep, there’s some muscular damage there. It needs to be repaired, by someone with the proper tools who knows that they’re doing. Unfortunately, we’re a little short on both.” Nureyev sounds strained, even apologetic, as if it’s his fault they’re in this situation and not because Juno has pissed off enough people in the HCPD that they want to frame him for murder and treason.

“It’s ok, we’ll just have to do what we can and have Vespa fix it up properly when we get out of here.” Juno says, trying to sound optimistic, but he knows it’s probably falling flat.

It’s not that he doesn’t believe that the others will come for them, he does, he believes in Rita with everything he has, and he wouldn’t be working with Buddy, Jet and Vespa if he didn’t trust them to have his back. It’s not even that he doesn’t believe he can hold out, he _can_ , he’s lived through worse, even when he didn’t want to. And he _wants_ to now. That’s got to count for something, right?

It’s just… he’s tired, and in pain, and he’s not even _close_ to giving up, hasn’t even considered it, but he doesn’t really have the energy to keep up a brave face right now.

“Try to relax, Juno,” Nureyev asks, something soft and concerned in his voice, like he’s seen straight through Juno’s bullshit, “Let me take care of your injuries. You know you don’t have to pretend you’re okay, not with me.”

“Yeah,” Juno sighs, more exhausted than before now that he’s acknowledged it, “I’m just going to- space out for a while I guess?”

“Go right ahead.” Nureyev says fondly, pulling off his shirt, something nice and fitted and probably ridiculously expensive, and tearing it into strips. After that… well, Juno would assume that he does some sort of first aid, he can feel movement and pressure and a little pain but honestly, he’s not paying attention anymore, he’s just drifting.

He does vaguely notice when Nureyev moves on from his leg to his shoulders, notices being gently moved around, but he trusts Nureyev enough that he doesn’t feel the need to keep track.

Eventually he comes back to himself again to a familiar sensation. His head’s in Nureyev’s lap again.

“Keep waking up like this.” Juno murmurs tiredly, looking up at Nureyev.

The hand in his hair stops, “I’m sorry, it _is_ a little presumptive-“

“It’s nice,” Juno says, “Feels safe, with you.”

Nureyev is looking down at him, something soft and warm and impossibly fond on his face, and Juno doesn’t know why, after everything, Nureyev can look at him like that.

“I missed you,” Juno says plainly, tired enough that the words come easy, “I know that’s not fair, I’m the one that left, but I still did.”

Nureyev sighs, running his hand through Juno’s hair again, like he can’t bring himself to stop, “I missed you as well detective, far more than I had anticipated I would. I am not- I have not had much cause to _miss_ someone before.”

“I still haven’t apologized yet, have I?” Juno asks quietly.

“You… explained, a little earlier, but no, you haven’t.” Nureyev is still now, his face blank, not like he’s trying to hide what he’s feeling, more like he’s not quite sure what to feel.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s not enough, it’s just… words, and it should be more, there should be something I could do to make things right. But there’s not. I walked out on you, and I hurt you, and I can’t take that back.” Juno admits.

“You did hurt me, and I’m not entirely sure whether or not I’ve forgiven you for that yet,” Nureyev admits, sounding drained, “But I’m tired of being angry with you, and I’m tired of missing you, and I understand… I put you in a difficult position. I gave you an ultimatum, made you believe that your only choices were to leave with me, or to stay alone. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have made you feel like you had to sneak out in the middle of the night rather than just _talking_ to me about it.”

“I’m honestly not sure if it would have made a difference,” Juno says, “I was… I was a _mess_ , I had been for a long time. I still am, if I’m being honest with myself. Maybe things could have worked out if we’d done things differently, maybe not, either way we’ll never get to know. We can’t go back.

“No, I suppose we can’t,” Nureyev agrees, “So, where does that leave us now?”

“I don’t know,” Juno shakes his head, “I’m not the same lady who walked out on you a year ago, but no matter how much has happened, no matter how much has changed, my feelings for you are still the same. I miss you, I _trust_ you, and I know I don’t deserve you, but I can’t stop myself from loving you.”

“Juno-“ Nureyev begins, voice cracking with something, but Juno shakes his head, he needs to finish this.

“It’s up to you what that means. I _want_ to try again, I _want_ to see if we can make this work, but you’re the one who I hurt. You don’t have to decide now,” Juno looks Nureyev in the eye, making sure he understands, “You probably _shouldn’t_ decide right now. We rushed into things before, we made decisions while running high on adrenaline and after weeks of being tortured together. So, take your time, decide what you want to do, and I’ll accept whatever decision you make.”

“Juno… are you sure?” Nureyev asks, voice small, like he wasn’t expecting Juno to hand him the reins.

“Yes. You gave me your heart once, gave me your name, laid all the cards on the table and let me decide what to do with them. It’s your turn to decide now.” Juno says.

And Nureyev is looking at him with something like wonder, like he’s done something unexpected, but really, Juno thinks it’s the only way they can possibly decide how to move forwards. He knows what he wants, and he knows he doesn’t deserve it, and he knows he can’t be the one to make the decision, not this time.

“Whatever I decide, I _do_ care for you Juno. That’s been true since the day I met you.” Nureyev says gently.

“When you met me, I was crawling out of the window in my office.” Juno feels the need to point out.

“Yes, and I found it quite endearing.” Nureyev says with an amused smile.

“Most people wouldn’t.”

“ _I_ am not most people.” Nureyev points out.

“No, I suppose you’re not.” Juno finds himself smiling, and Nureyev smiles back like that had been his intention from the start. Knowing him, it probably had.

Juno hates that Nureyev has been dragged into this mess with him, hates that it’s Juno’s mistakes that are putting the two of them in danger, hates that there is a very real possibility that, despite they’re best efforts otherwise, both of them could die here.

He’s willing to admit to himself though, if he has to be stuck in a cold concrete room after being tortured with anyone in the universe, he’s glad it’s Peter Nureyev.

* * *

At some point, both Juno and Nureyev had drifted off into an uneasy sleep, more or less curled around each other for warmth and comfort. So, when they hear the sound of loud, booted footsteps and yelling from outside the door, they both jolt awake at the same time.

The door swings open and three guards move in, weapons up, but this doesn’t look like the usual wakeup call, they’re moving in too close, too fast, angry and panicked.

Nureyev pushes himself up, crouching protectively in front of Juno and glaring at the approaching guards in a way that promises violence, his whole body tense and ready to move and _dangerous_. And he’s unarmed, half naked and has literally just woken up, but he’s clearly prepared to take down these guards with his bare hands rather than let them come even one step closer.

Juno thinks he could probably do it too.

They don’t get the chance to find out though, as three shots ring out, fast and merciless, and Juno flinches back at the sound, reaching for Nureyev in blind panic.

Nureyev is still standing, completely unharmed.

The guards are not. They’re crumpled on the ground in a tangled heap.

Buddy is standing in the doorway, a large, powerful looking blaster held in her hands, her eyebrow raised.

“It’s good to see you too, Darlings, but I’m afraid we don’t have time to stand here staring at each other all day. They’ll be plenty of time for that once we’re safely back on the ship.” Buddy says.

“I assume Jet and Vespa are taking care of the rest of the guards?” Nureyev asks, standing up from the crouch in one smooth movement and no longer looking _quite_ so deadly.

“You’d assume correctly,” Buddy confirms, “Darling, whatever happened to your shirt?”

Nureyev looks down to his bare chest with a careless shrug, “I decided it looked better on Juno.”

 “Well you’re not getting it back,” Juno rolls his eye at Nureyev, “Even if you hadn’t shredded it those bloodstains are _never_ coming out.”

Buddy turns to Juno, looking over him as best she can with Nureyev still standing between Juno and the door.

“Can you walk?” Buddy asks, clearly concerned.

“Maybe?” Juno answers with a helpless shrug. Which in hindsight was a mistake because his shoulders don’t appreciate the movement.

“Absolutely not,” Nureyev corrects sternly, “You shouldn’t even try to _stand_ on that leg until Vespa has had a chance to look at it.”

“Great, well I guess I’ll just-“ Juno starts, but Nureyev has turned around and is lifting Juno to his feet, “Hey! What are you-“

“I would have thought that would be obvious, my dear detective,” Nureyev says, “I’m carrying you.”

Juno doesn’t even have time to protest before Nureyev is lifting him bridal style, one arm tucked carefully under his knees and one supporting his back.

Even though Nureyev was doing his utmost to be gentle, the movement is still enough to make Juno cry out in pain, his whole body reminding him just how much everything _hurts_ right now, and he just doesn’t have the strength to argue about it anymore.

Honestly, he doesn’t think he could walk if he tried, and trying would probably hurt a _lot_ , so really, Nureyev carrying him is for the best, even if it _does_ feel ridiculous. And _maybe_ kind of nice. But mostly ridiculous.

“Well, that settles that then,” Buddy says briskly, “Now, shall we leave?”

“After you.” Nureyev says mildly, walking easily across the room, past the collapsed guards.

“The guards, are they-“ Juno asks, not sure he wants the answer.

“Stunned. Rita insisted, she seemed certain you wouldn’t want them dead. She did, however, promise to absolutely _destroy_ them.” Buddy sounds very pleased about that.

“Yeah, wow, killing them would have probably been more merciful. Rita can be _brutal_ when she’s angry.” Juno says with a shuddery laugh, relieved beyond measure that he doesn’t have any more deaths on his conscience, that the people he’s working with respect his wishes enough to leave his enemies alive even when it would have been easier to kill them.

They’re moving through the twisting hallways now, past more stunned guards. Buddy clearly knows exactly where she’s going, and Nureyev seemingly has no difficulty carrying Juno as far as he needs to.

They reach an elevator, with another pile of stunned guards and Jet and Vespa looking satisfied with themselves.

“Are all the guards accounted for, dear?” Buddy asks Vespa.

“And the boss lady. She was an angry piece of work. I might have stunned her twice, so she’ll have one _hell_ of a headache when she wakes up.” Vespa nods.

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer lady.” Juno grins.

“Steel, you look like hell.” Vespa says bluntly.

“Good to know, because I _feel_ like hell too.” Juno admits cheerfully.

“Then I would suggest we leave this place. You will no doubt require significant medical attention.” Jet says, pressing the button to call the elevator.

“Sounds like a great plan.” Juno says, well, more like mumbles because he’s turned his face into Nureyev’s chest again, but he thinks he gets his point across. He’d probably feel embarrassed about how he’s basically snuggling into Nureyev’s (very nice) bare chest, if he wasn’t so exhausted.

He’s barely aware of entering the elevator, adrenaline fading now that he feels safe enough to relax. Nureyev’s arms are steady around him, Buddy, Vespa and Jet are comfortably close and armed to the teeth. He’s safe.

“Has Steel sustained any head injuries?” Vespa is asking sharply.

“He took a few slaps and a punch to the head on the first day, but nothing since then as far as I’m aware.” Nureyev answers.

He doesn’t quite catch Vespa’s answer, but then she’s in his face, snapping her fingers, and he can’t help but flinch away a little. Judging by the slightly uncomfortable look on her face, she notices.

“Take it easy Steel, I just need your attention. Now, you’re hurt pretty bad and it’s a bit of a long trip to get back to the ship, and that’s going to _suck_ ,” Vespa says bluntly, “You’ve got two choices, I can give you some painkillers to take the edge off, or I can knock you out completely. It’s up to you.”

“Knock me out,” Juno says without hesitation, “Please.”

“Ok.” Vespa agrees, pulling a hypospray full of what he assumes is a fairly strong sedative out of one of her pouches and injecting it quick and painless into his neck.

Whatever it is, it works _fast_. Between one breath and the next he’s out.

* * *

Juno’s warm, comfortable and pain free and just a little high in a way that suggests he’s on some _very_ nice painkillers right now. For the first time in days he’s able to breathe without feeling like his chest is being slowly crushed, which is kind of nice. Part of him wants to just keep his eyes closed and go back to sleep, _proper_ sleep in what feels like an actual bed, but though he’s a little drowsy the bone deep exhaustion he’d been feeling is gone.

He cracks his eye open, bracing himself for sudden bright light and is pleasantly surprised to find there isn’t any. He’s in one of the two beds in the infirmary back on the ship, the usual bright lights have been dimmed and it doesn’t seem like he’s hooked up to any machines because there’s no obnoxious beeping, just soft snoring coming from the chair to his left.

Rita’s asleep in the chair, curled up in a tight ball that somehow manages to look comfortable, her glasses crooked from where her face is pressed against her legs and her shoes kicked off so that her toes are curling on the edge of the seat.

Juno can’t help but smile a little at that.

“You know there’s a perfectly good bed about three feet to your left, right?” Juno asks at last.

“Huh?” Rita snuffles awake, lifts her head and straightens her glasses, “Boss! You’re awake! How are you feeling?”

Juno shifts a little, surprised when the movement only makes him ache a little, “Pretty good actually, all things considered.”

“Good, because with the amount of painkillers Vespa gave you if you _weren’t_ feeling good there’d be something really really wrong and I was already so scared when you and Peter went missing and then when we found you you were so hurt and-“

“Hey, _breathe_ Rita,” Juno interrupts her, “I’m okay, and I probably have you to thank for that, right? I’m guessing you were the one who tracked us down?”

“Uh-huh,” Rita nods, biting her lip, “I’m sorry it took so long Boss, they were actually _really_ good at staying off grid, not good _enough_ obviously but it took a lot longer than I would have liked, and… they were hurting you that whole time Boss. So, I’m sorry.”

“You did good Rita, you found us before they had a chance to do anything _really_ nasty.” Juno says firmly.

“You got stabbed Mistah Steel.” Rita says, just as firmly.

“I got a _little_ stabbed.” Juno argues, hiding a smile.

“You got a _lot_ stabbed!” Rita points her finger at him, standing up from her chair and stomping her foot, and Juno really shouldn’t find that funny, but he does. He can’t help it, he laughs.

Rita’s face wobbles, and for a moment Juno’s afraid she’s going to get mad, or worse, cry, but instead she giggles right back at him, and before long they’re both laughing, a little shaky, a little breathless, but still laughing.

“Owww,” Juno complains as the giggles subside, “I forgot about the ribs.”

“Well it’s your own fault for laughing at me, so there!” Rita pouts, and Juno has to bite his lip to keep from laughing again. He’s not sure if it’s the relief from being safely back on the ship or the painkillers that are making him so giggly, it’s probably a little bit of both.

“I’m glad your safe Boss. I was really scared.” Rita says, grabbing her arm and looking down a little.

Juno shifts as much as he can, making some space and opening his arm and trying to give as much of a hint that he was trying to give her permission to hug him without actually _saying_ so. Thankfully Rita is pretty good at understanding Juno without him needing to use words, so she leans in without hesitation, although she’s much more careful with his ribs than she would normally be.

“Me too Rita. Me too.” He admits, carefully wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

If anyone asked him, he’d say _she_ looked like she needed a hug, Juno’s willing to admit, if only inside his head, that he needed one just as much.

He doesn’t want it to end, not yet, he wants to stay here warm and happy and safe with a friend by his side. It takes him a moment to realize that there’s no reason he _can’t_ have this, that the only one who’d always been saying he couldn’t was _him_.

“Hey, Rita, do you have any streams on your comms we could watch? Maybe… what’s the one with the two bartenders who are in love with each other except their both secretly spies and the second one is actually the first’s long lost wife who everyone thought died and she has amnesia-“

“But her bosses know and they’ve secretly brainwashed her so that the minute she starts to remember who she was she’ll activate her programming and kill the first one who’s her ex-wife, who she’s been in unrequited-but-actually-requited love with ever since that night where the bar was attacked by Venusian Mafia sent by the first one’s half-brother who’s an evil crime boss-“ Rita continues excitedly.

“Except he’s not, he’s actually secretly a spy too, but he’s deep undercover to route out the traitor who broke up his little sister’s marriage by fake killing her wife, and he sent the Mafia thugs to attack them because he knew they’d end up fighting back to back and passing each other blaster charges, and the way the first bartender’s long black hair shimmered in the light of the laser blasts makes the second fall in love with her all over again, and he just wants his little sister to be _happy_ again-“ Juno butts in.

“And the bar is going to close down in a month unless they can raise enough money to buy it off the owner who’s actually an arms-dealing gangster, so they have to organise a bake sale except neither of them can bake! And then I don’t know what happens because that’s the next episode and I’ll put it on _right now_ Mistah Steel!” Rita finishes, digging out her comms.

The screen lights up, the intro music starts playing and the bartenders are staring longingly at each other as they pour drinks and internally monologue about their deep, terrible secrets, and Rita is a warm, comfortable weight beside him, and Juno couldn’t stop himself from smiling if he tried.

So, he doesn’t try. For once, Juno just lets himself be happy.

* * *

Eventually he _does_ send Rita off to sleep in her own bed, but only after they’d both fallen asleep watching _Shots fired over Venus_ and Rita had fallen out of the infirmary bed.

It’s the very early hours of the morning now, going by the ship’s day/night cycle, and Juno’s lying awake in the dim light trying to decide if it’s worth getting out of bed to go and grab something to eat, or if he should just go back to sleep and wait until ‘morning’.

He still hasn’t made a decision when the infirmary door slides open with a soft hiss, revealing a slightly sleep mussed Peter Nureyev, who’s holding two mugs of something warm.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be awake,” Nureyev says, shuffling over to the chair by the bed in a movement that’s still graceful, but not nearly as _polished_ as Nureyev usually seems.

He passes Juno one of the mugs and Juno gives it a curious sniff, it’s hot chocolate, the _good_ kind, not the cheap powder that always manages to taste like vaguely chocolatey artificial sweeteners.

“I’m not sure if it’s worth trying to get back to sleep,” Juno say, wrapping his hands around the mug, “I don’t even know what day it is, but it feels like I’ve been asleep for a week.”

“Not quite, just most of yesterday. Vespa thought it would be easier to fix up your injuries if you weren’t awake to feel it.” Nureyev takes a sip of his drink.

“How’d that go anyway?” Juno asks, “I mean, it doesn’t hurt anymore but I’m pretty sure that’s just the painkillers talking.”

“She was able to fix most of the damage toy your leg,” Nureyev assures him, “You’ll have to do some exercises to make sure you get full mobility back, but nothing too strenuous. There’s a scar there I’m afraid, and two on your shoulders as well. You had two broken ribs and a third cracked one, Vespa ran a bone-knitter over them to give them a head start healing, but they’ll still need some time to heal fully. Other than that, it was mostly bruising. You’ll have to take it easy for a few weeks, but everything will heal, given time.”

Juno takes a sip of the hot chocolate, and it tastes just as good as it smells, “It’s a good thing we’ve got a proper infirmary on the ship, I don’t bounce back from a beating quite as quickly as I used to.”

“You don’t have to ‘bounce back’ quickly this time, Juno. We’ve got weeks before we have to be anywhere, plenty of time for you to rest and recover _without_ pushing yourself.” Nureyev scolds lightly.

“I know,” Juno says, “Believe me I’m not planning on getting into any fights until my bones have finished knitting.”

“I’m glad,” Nureyev says softly, “I don’t like seeing you hurt. I _especially_ don’t like seeing you hurt right in front of me and not being able to do anything to stop it.”

“Hey, N- _Swann_ , I’m okay, or, at least, I _will_ be. I’m sorry you got dragged into that mess with me, but I have to admit I’m glad I wasn’t alone in there.” Juno says guiltily.

“I’m glad I was there,” Nureyev says softly, “Even if I couldn’t do much, in the end.”

“N- _Swann_ , you watched over me so I could actually get some rest, you kept me from getting lost in my head and used that fancy shirt of your for bandages, you carried me out of there in your arms and _don’t_ think I didn’t see you ready to take those guards on bare handed if you had to. You did _plenty_.” Juno says, low and serious and grateful.

Nureyev just looks at him thoughtfully, “You keep stumbling over my name. It’s understandable, of course, hazards of having too many, but surely it would be easier for you to call me Peter?”

 “I didn’t want to… presume anything,” Juno says, thrown off by the change of subject, “I’m not even sure _why_ , but using your first name without permission, it just seems wrong to me.”

“Well, you _have_ my permission now, and it’s certainly easier that hearing you trying _not_ to say my name at every-“

“Peter,” Juno interrupts, testing the word, and Nureyev, no, _Peter_ stills, “You’re right, it’s easier, but are you sure you’re okay with it?”

“Juno, in case you haven’t noticed I’ve been using _your_ first name from the start, it’s only fair you get to use mine. Besides, whatever else we are, I would like to think we’re friends.” Peter says, and there’s something uncertain in his voice.

“We’re friends Peter,” Juno assures him, “I don’t… I’m not really _good_ at having friends, but we are.”

“Neither am I,” Peter admits quietly, “Oh, Rex Glass certainly has friends, and Duke Rose, and even Peter Swann, but whoever I am underneath all those faces? No one’s ever seen me long enough for it to matter. Not since… not since Mag. Not until _you_.”

Juno sets his mug aside and looks at Peter seriously, “You deserve to have friends Peter, not just your aliases, _you_.”

“I- thank you, Juno.” Peter says softly, looking a little unsure, like no one’s ever said anything like that to him before.

From what Juno has seen in his head, it’s likely that no one _has_ , and that just makes Juno feel a little sad and a little angry, because how could anyone look at any of the faces Peter Nureyev wore and not want to see the man underneath them all?

“Back in that room, you said that I didn’t have to pretend to be okay in front of you. You know you don’t have to pretend with me either, right? You can just be _you_.” Juno says.

“I’m not entirely sure I know who that person _is_.” Peter admits.

“And that’s ok,” Juno answers, “I don’t quite know who I am either, not anymore. We can find out together, if you like?”

“I’d like that.” Peter says softly, smiling at Juno, and it’s not his fox’s smile, sharp as a blade and twice as deadly, it’s something softer, not so much more real as less practiced.

“Me too.” Juno says, and he smiles back, small and secret and real.

He’s getting better at that, he thinks; at smiling without the sardonic twist, at laughing without the bitterness.

They sit like that for a while, finishing their drinks in comfortable silence.

“I’ve made my decision, Juno.” Peter says calmly after a while.

And Juno thinks maybe he should be panicking, maybe his heart should be racing, and his breath should catch in his throat, but he’s not. He knows what he wants, and God, he _wants_ to be with Peter. But he meant it, when he said that it had to be Peter’s choice, because Peter has to want it too, or it wouldn’t mean anything.

“Where do we go from here then?” Juno asks, just as calmly.

“I want to try again, without the secrets or the danger or the ultimatums. You talk to me, and I talk to you, and we both try to make this work.” Peter says.

“Ok,” Juno says tightly, voice cracking, “Ok. We’ll both try. _Thank you_.”

Peter moves in, swiping light fingers across Juno’s cheek to catch the tear that Juno can’t even deny is there.

“No Juno, thank _you_ ,” Peter says sincerely, “For giving me your trust, and your heart, and letting me decide what to do with them. Now, I would very much like to kiss you now, if that’s ok with you.”

“Yes.” Juno breathes out, and the answer has barely left his lips before Peter is there.

And it’s familiar, but so, so different at the same time. There’s no heat, or urgency, just Juno and Peter melting into each other with soft sighs, eyes sliding shut, breathing each other in, holding and being held, fingers tangling together.

The pull apart, eventually, resting their foreheads together and just happy to be close to one another.

“Good?” Juno asks at last, not bothering to open his eyes.

“Perfect.” Peter answers, and Juno swears that this close he can _feel_ his smile.

And just like that, he’s found.

**Author's Note:**

> Story title from An Act of Kindness by Bastille.
> 
> I'm not too sure about this one, it ended up about half as angsty, twice as fluffy and four times as long as I was planning, and has eaten my life for an entire week.
> 
> Feel free to check out silfrvarg.tumblr.com if you want to send in a prompt


End file.
